


Handfast

by AsteroidMiyoko



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Fluff and Angst, Illnesses, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-05-07 10:23:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19207444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsteroidMiyoko/pseuds/AsteroidMiyoko
Summary: This started as random drabbles about Starprime, but has now turned into Arranged Marriage drabbles. ^_^Absolute fluff (with some minor angst and fretting here and there), everyone lives, no one dies, etc.Mature rating is because there may be some fluffy smut later on lol.Other pairings may be mentioned throughout.





	1. Chapter 1

They hardly know each other, aside from battle stats, but the spark bond they've been so "politely" ordered to complete, creates a sort of intimacy.

The juxtaposition is jarring.

One moment, Optimus is in his old habit of maintaining a strategic distance, optics on Starscream and the exits. The next, he's slumping down next to the Seeker on a couch with a cube, complaints about the day's work already forming in his vocoder.

For his own sanity, he counts the nanokliks it takes for Starscream to relax in the morning after realizing that he has once again awoken in the home of his former enemy. When they come out of their separate rooms and Optimus offers some sort of stilted greeting, he begins counting (to himself, of course), and it ends when Starscream exvents, responds, and starts to rummage around for something to eat. The first time, the morning after, as it were, he counted to almost 800. Now, it hovers around 200. He keeps the logs in a file titled "I think he's starting to tolerate me".

~

"Why do you care?" Arcee asks him one day, when they've gotten together for drinks after work. "It's political. Just, you know, don't kill him." She takes a long sip, optics on Optimus as he resists the urge to lay his helm on the bar, "Or do. Fine with me either way."

"Arcee…"

"I'd help."

"I appreciate that." he says, dryly.

Somewhat childishly, he thinks that Arcee isn't the right one to talk to about this. She's happy; has a conjunx who dotes on her, a civilian named Solarjump she'd met after the war. Optimus' thoughts slip out anyway.

"Is it so strange to want my bonded to like me?" he mumbles.

Arcee says nothing, but smiles her crooked smile and raises her arm to get the bartender's attention.

~

He feels nervous all the time.

Not like when he was younger, in the days before exams or before job interviews, or when approaching some attractive person. It's a deeper feeling, anxiety tinged with hopelessness.

It flares uncomfortably in his processor as Optimus rides the lift up to their apartment. By the time he's sending the code to unlock the door, it's like a layer of sedimentary earth laying on top of him.

The lights are on, which is strange, since it's only a little while before dawn. Starscream is curled on a chair, datapad resting precariously in his lap, wings folded awkwardly, and his helm swivels quickly at the sound of the door. He rises, steadying himself on the arm of the chair.

When he speaks, it's harsh, "I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know when you're going to be out late. I do _not_ want to be investigated for murder." And with that, he disappears into his room.

Optimus stands there for an indeterminate amount of time, vaguely aware that the automatic door is beeping for him to get out of the way.

~

Joors later, when the high-grade has worked it's way out of his system, Optimus wakes to the sudden thought that what Starscream said doesn't make any sense. It's exceedingly obvious when one of a bonded pair has killed the other, what with the sudden and painful system shut down and all.

Which means, Starscream was up waitng for a different reason.

~

The living room is empty, which is not surprising, but Optimus knows Starscream hasn't left because, well, he just knows. He knocks loudly on his berthroom door and calls through it.

"I'm sorry for making you worry!"

He hears shuffling, cursing, and then, the door wooshes open to reveal a Seeker with comically wide optics. His mouth opens and closes a couple of times.

"Why are you apologizing?!" he finally demands.

"Because you were upset?"

Starscream scoffs as he brushes past him into the living room. It's the first time they've touched since the bonding ceremony.

"I'll be more considerate in the future." Optimus continues.

Starscream throws up his arms. "You're a grown mech! You don't need to tell me your whereabouts."

"I know."

"Your personal affairs are none of by business."

"To a point."

"Slaggit, Optimus-"

"Star, all of these things are true."

Starscream's optics flash in embarassment, and Optimus likes to think it's because of the nickname and not the indignity of agreeing with him. Either way, he _understands_ now. He knows whose hopelessness he's been feeling.

"My intention," Optimus says carefully, "Is not, and has never been, to pretend like we're not bonded. I apologize if it seemed that way."

The anxiety lessens at the same time that Starscream's wings relax. He turns and asks, voice quiet, "Then what is your intention?"

Optimus smiles.


	2. Chapter 2

Optimus first suspected something was wrong when Starscream returned from his morning flight and landed somewhat less than gracefully on the balcony.

He'd taken to using the seeker's schedule as an alarm clock, relying on the muted sound of thrusters starting up at dawn to rouse himself, and then reading in bed until he heard them again in landing. They were still in separate rooms, of course, or else the woosh of the berth room door would have been what woke him. Or the quiet slide of a mesh as Starscream left their berth. Or maybe even…anyway.

Needless to say, he thought about it a lot.

Not that Optimus was complaining; they'd made significant strides in their relationship over the past few lunar cycles, eating the morning meal together, sharing the events of their days in the evening, and even sending each other articles they thought were interesting. All in all, it was shaping up to be a solid friendship, if not a marriage quite yet.

So when the usual sound of thrusters winding down was accompanied by an uncharacteristic scrape of metal and the sound of pedes landing hard, Optimus shot out of berth and went to the living room in record time.

Starscream's servo was heavy on the entry pad of the balcony door, and he sank into a plush chair as soon as he was fully inside, uncaring of the dust and grit of flight falling to the floor as he moved.

It was a balancing act, caring about the seekers well-being, so Optimus acted as if he had coincidentally gone to grab a couple of cubes, handing one to Star and sitting in the chair next to him.

"Good flight?" He asked, trying to keep his voice light.

"Uneventful." Starscream grumbled, helm falling back against the chair.

Well then.

Normally Optimus would be happy just to watch him for a few minutes as he waited for his engines to cool down, but even the lines of Starscream's neck, enticingly stretched though they were, were not enough to distract from the fact that the seeker just looked _rough_. 

He tried again, "Bad weather?"

"No, why?"

"Just that, well, your wings look like they've taken a beating."

Starscream leveled a glare at him that would have been worrying, once upon a time. "How gallant of you to point that out."

"No, that's-" Optimus exvented slowly. "I mean, they looked fine last night, and now they look like you've flown through an ice storm or something similar."

And they did; covered in deep scratches and dings, the normally smooth paint cracked and flaking, they just looked painful. And the rest of Starscream's frame hadn't fared much better.

"Well, I didn't. And I'll be fine. Just need to refuel and recharge a bit."

"If you say so."

Starscream didn't justify that with a response, but he did murmur a thanks for the cube before disappearing into his room.

* * *

The next day, it happened again, and then again the next.

Worse.

Or rather, cumulative. The scratches from before hadn't healed, and new ones now criss-crossed over them. There were very few places on the wings that _weren't_ damaged. But it didn't make any sense. As long as a mech kept fueled, the nanites in their system should be able to repair that sort of wear and tear.

As soon as Optimus reached the privacy of his office, he commed Ratchet.

The medic's face appeared on screen by the end of the second ring but before could open his mouth, Optimus blurted out,

"There's something wrong with Star."

Ratchet narrowed his optics for a moment, searching Optimus' face in that way that still made him feel like a youngling sometimes. Apparently, what he saw was enough, because a diagnostic pad appeared in his hand.

"Alright, let me see him."

"Ah. Well-"

A long exvent. "Figures. Can you describe his symptoms then?"

And so Optimus did, in as much detail as he could.

After several kliks of murmuring and swiping through the pad, Ratchet looked up, brows furrowed.

"There are a couple of things it could be, but you'd think he would have noticed other symptoms by now."

"It's not out of character for Star to ignore weakness and hope it goes away on it's own." Optimus pointed out, worry growing at the serious look on his friend's face.

Ratchet huffed loudly. "Well tell him to cut it out and come see me right away."

"I understand. Thank you."

With a quick message to his staff that he'd be out for the rest of the day, Optimus hurried to the Science Center where Star spent most of his working time. He ignored the fact that he hadn't responded to a ping on his comms.

"He's not here." Perceptor explained when Optimus turned the corner into their shared lab. "Which is strange because he was excited about the test we were supposed to do today on-"

Optimus was already gone.

_It's fine, he's just recharging, which is what he should be doing if he's sick…but what if-_

Optimus burst into the flat, looking around frantically before making a bee-line for Star's room when the sound of laboured venting reached his audials.

The seeker was curled up his berth, meshes tangled in his legs, shivering, and servo dangling over the side in the general direction of some repair cream. Optimus wasted no time in freeing him from the meshes and carefully lifting him into his arms.

[Ratchet, I need a medical transport at our flat. Now.]

* * *

"What an idiot."

Optimus winced. Ratchet only resorted to Earth curses under certain circumstances.

"Do you know," he continued, "With modern health mods there hundreds of illnesses that our frames can heal on their own, and hundreds of ways that we can be killed outright, and right smack in the middle, are a handful of viruses that are completely curable, but only if you _acknowledge and get treatment for them!"_

He understood Ratchet's anger. It was all well and good to survive a war, but then for sickness to get you in the end… it was hard to process.

"He's going to be alright though?"

"…yes." Ratchet shook his helm. "And before you ask, yes you can see him now."

* * *

Starscream already looked much better; the medical grade nanites that had been administered worked quickly, and with his own nanites functional once again, he would be back to normal in a couple of cycles.

Optimus pulled a chair over beside the bed and sat, hesitating a moment before reaching out to clasp Star's servo.

The way Ratchet explained it, the virus attacked the processors ability to communicate a base-line to nanites. Without a roadmap of how the frame was supposed to function, look, fit together, the nanites were useless. So, weeks of everyday use, work, flights, piled up in Starscream's frame while the nanites sat dormant. It would have gone unnoticed for lunar cycles if he hadn't been so set on flying every morning he could.

As far as illnesses went, it wasn't the most dangerous because mechs typically got it sorted as soon as they started to feel something wrong.

The implications sat heavily in Optimus spark.

A quiet sound drew his optics towards the medberth; Starscream's optics flickered and then onlined. He identified the sequence of thoughts as though they were his own:

_Where am I?_

_What happened?_

_I have to get out of here-_

"Star, be still. You're in Ratchet's clinic, and you're alright."

_The war is over._

Star reset his vocoder a couple of times before finally croaking out, "Explain."

And so Optimus did. And Star looked more and more frustrated as he went on, and it got to the point where he had to ask the seeker, just to be sure.

"You… you didn't know, did you?"

"That I was sick?"

"Yes."

Starscream attempted a scoffing noise, but it came out more like a hiss. "Obviously not. I've got too much work to do, and this has just thrown everything off." Cutting his optics over at Optimus, he smiled crookedly. "You're stuck with me a bit longer, I'm afraid."

Optics wide, Optimus lifted the servo he'd been holding and pressed it against his lip plates.

"Please don't joke like that."

"Oh come on-"

"Star, I would have been _bereft_."

A flush suffused Star's face, and he turned his helm away, but didn't make any move to remove his servo from Optimus' grasp.


	3. Chapter 3

"You are the worst liar I have ever met," grumbled Starscream from his position in the middle of a pile of meshes on his berth. "Ratchet did _not_ say I had to stay off my pedes for two cycles."

Optimus hummed a vague response, unable to keep a smile off of his face at the sight of the grumpy but thankfully healing seeker. When he'd asked, Star reluctantly admitted that he'd be most comfortable sleeping on his front, so his wings wouldn't feel trapped as their repair systems worked. So, Optimus grabbed all of the meshes in the flat and piled them up on the bed, creating a little nest.

"And yet you seem to be quite comfortable." Optimus pointed out, tucking the loose end of a mesh under Star's arm.

"Hmph. Well, who wouldn't be? I can barely tell there's a berth under all of this nonsense."

That was Starscream for 'thank you.'

There'd been a little bit of awkwardness earlier when they'd returned from the clinic and Optimus babbled out that he'd like to take care of him, but that he didn't want to intrude, and should they move his berth into the living room, or- at which point Starscream, embarrassed, cut him off with a loud, "Enough!" and told him he had permission to be in his room, and would he _please_ stop being so strange about the whole thing?

So, several kliks later found Optimus placing a small pile of med-grade on the table by Star's berth, and promising to be right outside if he needed him. It earned him an actual "thank you," muffled though it was, and he felt light as he left the berthroom.

No sooner had he relaxed onto his favorite chair with a pad to try and get some work done remotely, when he got a ping on comms.

[You don't have to stay.] Starscream mumbled after a moment. [As you insist, I'm not going anywhere.]

It felt a little silly, comming him when he was only a couple of meters away, but Optimus understood as well as anybot that the need for personal space and the need for company sometimes clashed in confusing ways.

[I told them I'll be out for a couple of days. They can manage that long, I'm sure.]

[There is no need-]

[There is. I'm making a point.]

[Hm. Fair enough. They _do_ need to figure out how to get on without you sometimes.]

[No, I'm making a point to my bondmate.]

The comms shut off with a click that seemed strangely loud, but not before Optimus heard a huff on the other end.

* * *

Some time later, Optimus's optics flickered online to the presence of someone else in the room.

_When did I initiate recharge?_ he wondered, though the answer was obvious if he was honest with himself; the days of worry and working late had apparently caught up to him. The pad he'd been working on rested on the floor by the chair, or at least it did until a servo reached down to pick it up and place it on the table.

"You vent loudly when you recharge." a droll voice very nearby said.

Optimus stretched and straightened in the chair, his left shoulder joint making a strange popping noise in protest. "So I've been told. Did I disturb you?"

"As if. I spent years on a ship that was built for power and not for comfort. I can recharge through anything."

It wasn't quite true. Optimus heard the way he thrashed around and fell to the floor one night when unannounced fireworks exploded a few streets over. He heard the hum of a null ray powering up and then down several shaky kliks later.

He heard all of it from his own position by his berth room door, mask on before his second pede hit the floor.

Neither of them mentioned it the next morning.

Wait.

"Star, why are you up? You need to-"

"Absolutely not!" the seeker bit out, though the effect was somewhat lessened by the mesh wrapped around his frame, "I'm not an invalid, and more importantly, I'm _bored_!"

_Adorable._

It was lessened even further by the fact that he swayed just slightly on his pedes.

Some sort of insistent subroutine was clearly dictating his actions, because Optimus suddenly found himself with a supportive servo on Starscream's back, pressing lightly to help him to the couch. He kept his optics angled downward, ostensibly to make sure he didn't step on the mesh trailng on the ground, but also to avoid the sharp look being directed his way.

The retort he also expected never came.

* * *

"Ridiculous." Starscream mumbled as he read through the results from an experiment concluded that morning. "That doesn't even make sense…"

Optimus looked up from his own reading. "Hm?"

"Its this damned- look, come here, I'll show you."

Kneeling down next to the couch, Optimus peered at the displayed numbers and diagrams.

"See??"

"I'm afraid you'll have to explain it to me." he admitted, sheepishly. "I always relied on the experience of my scientists in these matters."

With a look that Optimus would swear was teasing, Starscream let out a small "heh." He shifted on the couch, patting the space left over.

"Sit. It's awkward with you kneeling like that."

With a moment's hesitation, Optimus sat, careful to leave a bit of space between them, and settled in to listen to Star's spirited explanation.

"So the thing of it is…"

Almost a joor later, Optimus finally understood how it was that Starscream never managed to make it home until late at night. He was _consumed_ with his work, almost frantic in his efforts to make up for lost time.

As they all were.

Even when Optimus rose to get them something to snack on, Star's voice followed him into the kitchen. When he sat back down, casually rearranging the mesh over their legs, the seeker simply scooted closer, flipping through diagrams faster than Optimus could follow. 

He tried, and obviously failed, to ignore the warmth of the frame pressed against him shoulder to knee. The comfort, and pride, and _joy_ in Starscream's field, even tightly leashed, tingled against his plates.

Optimus wanted so badly to swim in it.

At one point, and he thought he might reasonably blame it on the late hour, Optimus blurted, "Do you know _everything_ about this topic?"

A laugh, a genuine one, bubbled it's way from Starscream's vocoder.

"Not yet! But I will."

He smiled, wide and bright for a moment before it tapered down into something subtler.

Optimus stared with wide optics.

"Keep talking."

The space between sentences stretched as the night went on and they veered into other topics, and Star's weight against Optimus' side grew heavier and less steady, his helm slipping as systems attempted to force him into recharge. Carefully, Optimus shifted so he could support him more easily.

_I really should get him to his berth…_

* * *

And the next thing he knew, it was morning.

For several long kliks Optimus kept his optics offlined, focusing only on the strutless seeker sprawled out over him, on their points of contact:

Legs, tangled together. One arm pressed between his side and the back of the couch, one resting over his chest plate. Helm, tucked under his chin.

The soft purring of internal systems and-

"I know you're awake." Star murmured.

"I-"

"That doesn't mean move."

Keeping the grin carefully from his face, Optimus pulled him closer.


	4. Chapter 4

Fowler looked in awe at the apartment that had been assigned to him as one of Earth's representatives to New Cybertron. Cybertronian architects had taken Terrans' size into account when designing diplomats' quarters, but they'd clearly done most of their research around the grander examples of human dwellings. His soft "Wow" echoed against the 12 foot ceilings of the as of yet empty rooms.

"I do hope you will be comfortable here, Bill." Optimus said, over comms, as he obviously could not fit inside the building.

"I hope the kids don't get lost in here!" Fowler responded with a laugh.

There was a pause.

"Bill, we had not considered-"

"Relax, Optimus, I'm joking. The family is going to love it."

He was especially looking forward to their reaction to the planet itself. Even partially built, New Cybertron was impressive, orbiting Sol somewhere between Earth and Mars, and looking at the moment like a giant Giger Pac Man. 

There wasn't a whole lot to do until the apartment was furnished, so Fowler made his way back outside to join Optimus. The mech carefully lifted him and placed him on one of the level plates of his upper chest. They walked for a while, Optimus pointing out various projects and construction while Fowler asked as many questions as he could.

"So," Fowler ventured, during a break in conversation, "How is _your_ family doing?"

He absolutely ignored the way Optimus' pede hit the ground a little unevenly.

"Ah. Well, he's in good health; we're settling in to our new life. He is… more comfortable with me these days."

"That's good, that's good." Fowler said with a pleased nod. "You gonna do anything for your anniversary? Do you even celebrate anniversaries?"

Optimus ran the word through his databanks. "An annual celebration of an event, usually marriage or other long-term commitment?"

"That's the one."

A little shrug caused Fowler to have to tighten his grip on Optimus plating.

"As we live so long, there are very few annual celebrations. Scientists may assign significance to space phenomena that are observed on such a schedule, but…"

Fowler grinned, gently tapping a fist on the underside of Optimus' helm.

"I thought Starscream was a scientist."

Narrowed optics only prompted Fowler's smile to widen.

"Scientist, yes. Romantic, no." Optimus mumbled.

"You sure about that?"

* * *

_Was_ he sure about that? Optimus fiddled with the datapad losely held in his left servo, long since distracted from the information on the screen.

Sure, Starscream had become more affectionate lately; they'd spent a couple of nights in the last week cuddled together on the couch reading until they fell into recharge. But, the morning during his sickness notwithstanding, he typically rose early to go about his business. It seemed like he didn't have time for affection that cut into the work day.

He was Prime, and he'd just fought a war, so no one said anything to him, but Optimus could tell that some of his staff were lately worried at his own relative lack of productivity. No two ways about it. He was distracted.

Optimus hadn't thought he'd have to deal with liminal spaces after bonding. One bonded to the person one loved, respected, found attractive. The ways a couple expressed physical and emotional affection, with an understanding, of course, of the preferences of the individuals involved, were typically worked out long before the ceremony.

"Why can't I just _ask_ him?" He grumbled aloud.

_Star, may I hold your hand in public? May I call you 'Star' in places strangers can hear us?_

_Star, may I pick you up from work sometimes? May I kiss you?_

_Star, may I tell anyone who will listen how intelligent and beautiful you are?_

But the conversations played out in painstaking awkwardness in Optimus' processor.

Bumblebee was no help.

"I don't get it, Boss. Just talk about it? That's what Charlie and I did, and we've been _happily_ bonded for five stella, three deca, seventeen cycles…"

No help at all.

It was, perhaps, no surprise that Megatron, High Protector nee Warlord, was the one to give Optimus the kick in the aft he needed. They passed each other in the hall at the Central Office, Optimus schooled his expression too late, and Megatron frowned before laughing uproariously.

"Don't let him get the better of you." he said, mirth coloring his face.

"It's worse than that I'm afraid." Optimus replied without thinking. (He could never lie to Megatron) "He's got the _best_ of me."

Megatron scoffed.

"You're telling me moping around is your best?"

The tone of his voice, the familiar challenge, it cleared some of the fog, and of _course_ Megatron knew it, the bastard.

"Now hang on-"

"That's what I thought." he said, with a loud clap on Optimus' dorsal plates before continuing on his way.

* * *

[Star, would you like to meet me for a walk after work overmorrow?]

[I would.]

* * *

As Optimus approached the walking bridge, the coordinates to which he'd given Starscream earlier, he clasped his servos behind his back to quell the strange tingling feeling that had accumulated in them. The seeker stood, leaning on the railing, looking out over night-cycle traffic below. Multicolored city lights glinted on his frame, and Optimus in-vented in an effort to calm his systems.

At Optimus' approach, Star straightened, inclining his helm in greeting.

They strolled for a while along the bridge and then sidewalk, exchanging the sort of small talk they'd become accustomed to. "How was your day?" "Did the experiment work?" "Which politicians are angry at you now?"

When they reached a half-finished park with slabs laid out for sculptures from artists who hadn't been chosen yet, Optimus led them to a bench. Reaching out to grasp Star's servo lightly, he encouraged him to sit.

"Please don't tell me you have bad news." Starscream blurted as soon as he was seated.

"I-"

"You've had a look on your face this whole time. No one is dying, are they?" He searched Optimus' face for the truth, and Optimus felt his spark clench. It always ended like this, he being unwilling to express himself, and Starscream assuming the worst.

He vowed to to better.

"No, no, Star, everything is ok. In fact, I invited you here for an… acknowledgement of sorts?"

The seeker relaxed, expression soon morphing to one of anticipation.

"Well?" he said, impatiently, servo tightening on Optimus'.

Optimus did his best to explain the human concept of "anniversaries," soldiering on even when Starscream laughed and mumbled something about 'strange alien customs.'

"Star, please-"

"Oh alright, I'm sorry. I won't interrupt again."

"I wanted you to know… I appreciate you. I know this wasn't your ideal situation, but-"

A servo over his lip plates derailed whatever Optimus was going to say next, but the contemplative look on Star's face immediately banished his annoyance that the seeker had gone back on his word.

"Have you ever asked me what my ideal situation would be?"

Mouth still covered, Optimus shook his helm.

"A fair and peaceful Cybertron, authority in my area of expertise, a quiet home to fly back to, and someone who loves me. Tell me, Optimus, what part of that don't I have?"

Apart from a slight warble, Starscream's voice stayed strong throughout, and his gaze was unrelenting. Optimus, on the other hand, could feel his vocoder struggling to work as he gently pulled the servo away from his face only to tangle the digits between his own.

"You have all of it." he rasped.

His other servo curled against the side of Starscream's neck, thumb pressing lightly between the cables there. A quiet vent hitch echoed in Optimus audials as he leaned in to rest their forehelms together. A moment later, the brush of lip plates against his wrist sent tiny crackles of charge straight to his spark.

"And what is your ideal, Optimus?" Star murmured, watching him carefully.

Optimus tried not to choke around the words, "Cybertron renewed, a role in which I can make a difference without violence…to… to make a home with the one who loves me."

"It's yours."

Starscream had barely gotten the words out before Optimus was closing the last centimeters of distance between them, pulling the seeker flush against him, close enough to feel the coolant rushing through his system, and finally, _finally_ , pressing his lips against Star's slightly parted ones.


End file.
